


in fumes I taste when we kiss

by CactusFlowers, crypticbarmpot, waitforhightide



Series: The Real Unholy Trinity [2]
Category: Original Work, The Real Unholy Trinity - Fandom
Genre: (for the first ch anyway), Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Drug Use, Explicit Consent, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Marijuana, Minor Violence, Praise Kink, Prophetic Dreams, Religious Guilt, Self-Hatred, Shotgunning, Slurs, Smoking, Sort Of, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-08-01 05:25:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16278551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CactusFlowers/pseuds/CactusFlowers, https://archiveofourown.org/users/crypticbarmpot/pseuds/crypticbarmpot, https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitforhightide/pseuds/waitforhightide
Summary: Luc's been trying to get Micah into bed and Micah's been having Lucian-tinged, blood-and-sex-soaked dreams and isn't sure if they're prophecies, fantasies, or planted by Lucifer.They need to talk.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There are brief interludes of Micah's dreams which depict blood, violence, and torture. 
> 
> This universe as a whole & this piece specifically is cowritten by [Crash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitforhightide/pseuds/waitforhightide), who writes Micah; [Cactus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CactusFlowers/pseuds/CactusFlowers), who writes Lucian; and [Cryptic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crypticbarmpot/pseuds/crypticbarmpot), who writes Julian.

Micah woke up with the afterimage of a dream floating on the backs of his eyelids and a vaguely unpleasant taste of metal and salt in his mouth. He made a face as he groped for the bottle of Excedrin on his nightstand—the dreams were getting more and more frequent ever since he’d come to live with Luc and Jules. Worse, he could rarely differentiate between regular dreams and  _ those  _ dreams these days. Which led to—

_ —Luc with his hands wrapped around Micah’s neck, lack of breath and bruising somewhere between excruciating and exciting, hot breath in his ear while Luc— _

_ — _ some confusing circumstances. Micah felt a twist of heat in his groin and sighed, one hand knotting into the back of his dark hair.  _ I should go find Luc, _ he thought, stopping the thought there before his traitor brain could make any other plans.

He wandered down the hallway in nothing but his sweats. Normally, he would take the time to put on a shirt, but Jules and Lucian had a habit of walking around buck-ass naked, which, ironically, made  _ him _ the weird one for almost alway being fully dressed. Besides, without a shirt there would be one less—

_ No, fuck, get the  _ fuck _ out of my head! _ Micah gave himself a hit to his forehead with the heel of his hand.

He just had to talk to Luc and then everything would be fine.

 

. . .

 

Jules twirled a dart in his hand. He closed one eye and took aim at the painfully bright, green sticky note stuck on the door leading to the kitchen. If you could even call that thing a kitchen; it was so small Micah wouldn’t even go in it while either of the other two boys were there, unless they promised to behave, because of the tight fit. Pulling his arm back so that it touched the back of the ratty couch he was sprawled across, Jules threw the dart. It hit almost exactly in the middle, slightly to the right of the word  _ ‘back _ .’

Micah would be mad at him for the puncture wound in the wall later. Although, he might just overlook it in favor of murdering Luci. Their resident devil had been pushing every button on Micah he could find lately, and there were many.  _ Wonder how long it’ll be before— _

The thought cut itself off as he heard footsteps to his right, down the hallway. _ Must be Micah, maybe another dream. Probably another dream. _ Jules let his head loll back against the armrest and closed his eyes. As he evened out his breathing, he wondered what the dreams were like, besides the vague descriptions he’d been given already. He wondered what’d woken Micah up this time.

 

. . .

 

Micah checked Luc’s room first, knocking on the door before walking in. Yet another social-politeness thing that was forever driving Luc and Jules—well, mostly Jules—off the wall. “Luc?” he called quietly as he opened the door, but the blankets and pillows on the floor were scattered and empty, as was the chair where Luc’s laptop rested, its power light surging on-off-on like a heartbeat. Micah withdrew back into the hallway and took the two and a half steps into the bathroom—also empty. The shower and sink were dry. 

Micah checked his watch, realizing that he had absolutely no idea what time it even was. The Indiglo told him it was 3:32 AM.  _ He’s probably downstairs with Jules, doing fuck-all knows what, _ Micah thought, heading towards the stairs.  _ But I don’t hear either of their voices. What if—? _

No, that was a thought for another time. Like possibly never. He made sure to keep his footsteps heavy and loud on the creaky steps, though, just in case. When he go down to the first floor, he saw Jules sprawled on the couch, fast asleep, but no sign of Luc. The kitchen was barely spitting distance from the ratty sofa; if Luc was there, Micah would have heard him, he decided.

Panic filled his gut suddenly, images from a dream—or maybe more than one, he had stopped trying to keep track—filling his mind.

_ Lucian is chained to a rack, blood pouring from his mouth as he screams, a series of sigils being carved into his chest by someone with blood in their blond hair. Lucian crucified upside down, throat slit, black beetles pouring from the wound and into his hair, onto the ground, towards Micah. Luc on fire, screaming, a faceless woman standing over him with a heavy silver crucifix sharpened to razor points— _

Before he was even aware of making the decision, Micah found himself shaking Jules awake. “Jules.  _ Jules. _ Jules, get  _ up, _ where’s Lucian?”

 

. . .

 

Jules had planned on staying “asleep” and freaking Micah the fuck out one way or another, but the tone of the other boy’s voice made it clear he already  _ was _ freaking out. Jules’s eyes snapped open and he propped himself up on his elbows. He dragged his eyes up from Micah’s chest and to his face. Despite the distress his friend was in, he was planning on making some kind of smart ass, suggestive comment. When he met Micah’s panicked eyes, however, the half-formed smirk fell from his lips.

“Calm down, Mickey Mouse, holy shit,” Jules said, hoping the hated nickname would distract at least partially from whatever was going through Micah’s head. He waved a hand in the vague direction of the sticky note. “He left a note. Fallen angel business, you know? Back in a few days or something. Nothing unusual about that.” Jules made a face at his own words and dipped his head to the side, like he was considering the oddness of it all. “Well...”

Micah tuned out Jules’s voice somewhere after “note,” and strode over to the wall, removing several darts from the green paper and tossing them on the floor. Luc’s spiky black handwriting was familiar, but the phrasing was short and sweet—meaning it was probably Lucifer who had left the note.

 

> **_M & J — _ **
> 
> **_Have some business in New Orleans._ **
> 
> **_Back by Friday._ **
> 
> **_Phone in my room, don’t bother calling._ **
> 
>  
> 
> **_L_ **
> 
>  
> 
> **_PS - M, how do you know what dreams  
> _ ** **_are yours and what ones aren’t?_ **
> 
>  

Micah balled the note up in one hand as his fists clenched at his sides. His dream that had woken him up in the first place—

_ —Luc behind him, hands superheated and strong on his shoulder and his hip, teeth that were sharper than usual scraping down the length of his collar bone. Micah’s own head thrown back, resting on the curve of Luc’s neck, flashes of heat shooting through his stomach and up along his spine— _

—flashed briefly in his mind again. He felt himself turning red, a mixture of anger and shame flushing his face, and he was shaking.  _ Fucking bastard! _ he thought.  _ He’s doing it. He’s giving me those dreams. They don’t mean anything at all, and fucking Lucifer is giving them to me just to fuck me up! _

In his anger, Micah grabbed the closest thing at hand—a glass half-full of someone’s soda, warm and flat—and hurled it full-force against the wall. It shattered beside the door frame, shards of glass tinkling down into the worn, stained shag of the carpet, a dark stain spreading on the drywall.

Jules wondered what the bit at the bottom of Luc’s note meant, but he wasn’t going to ask outright. At least, not with the way Micah’s face heated up as he read it. Whatever he was feeling, he probably didn’t want to share, and Jules wasn’t  _ that _ much of a dick. Usually. He saw the flash of violent anger on Micah’s face—the kind of anger that causes people to punch walls to avoid hitting their spouses, the kind that’s dangerous but where control is still hanging on by a thread—and he could’ve predicted the glass shattering against the far wall, had someone asked him to.

He didn’t try to avoid it, didn’t even flinch, because he knew it wasn’t going to be aimed at him. Even that angry, Micah was still a good guy. He was reminded of how close it was, though, when the spray of broken glass and soda came back in his direction and a few drops touched his hand hanging off the couch. They needed a bigger place.

“Well, damn, Menoetius,” Jules said, throwing in a name Micah most likely didn’t know, again in an attempt to distract. “Nice arm.”

Micah spun to face Jules, anger still surging in his head. “Fuck you, snake-boy,” he spat. “Next time the arm will aimed at your fucking face.” A bluff. One Jules would call easily. But he was angry, and he’d deal with that some other time. “Did you fucking know he was leaving? Do you even know what the  _ fuck _ he could be doing in New Orleans? Or how he fucking got there?”

_ Luc pinned to a warehouse wall by men with guns, naked fear in his eyes nothing but human, the strength of the fallen angel completely gone; Luc abandoned and broken in a gutter somewhere, the shadow of Lucifer hanging over him and laughing. A knock on the apartment door—the police, the horsemen, someone looking for Lucifer, for Jules, for him, and he and Jules defenseless with their third gone— _

“ _ Fuck! _ ” Micah took a swing at the wall, scoring a dent in the plaster with his middle knuckle. He felt the blood trickling down the back of his hand, and he swung again, with his left fist, scraping the skin off the back of his hand. He turned back to Jules again, still sprawled on the couch. Micah was panting, teeth clenched. 

“Find him,” he growled. “Use your fucking mental mind shit and fucking  _ find _ him and tell him to get the fuck back here before he gets himself killed!”

Jules wasn’t good with situations like this—situations where you were supposed to talk a person down. His specialties were smart ass comments and sex jokes. From the expression on Micah’s face, the look in his eye, now wasn’t the time for either of those. He wondered again what Micah could’ve seen that made him this concerned. Luci left occasionally, usually with little to no warning, and with no explanation. That was just how it was. Micah was upset most of the time, sure, but not like this. Whatever he saw in his dream must’ve been extraordinarily horrible.

“He might’ve mentioned he was leaving,” Jules said calmly, making sure to meet Micah’s eyes directly. “I don’t know. You know how I am. I don’t really give a fuck as long as he comes back in one piece.” He sighs. “He’s fine, Micah. He knows how to fight and defend himself and he’s also a fucking angel. A warrior of  _ God _ , for fuck’s sake. He’s  _ fine. _ He’ll be back by Friday, just like the note said, and if he isn’t,  _ then _ I’ll use my ‘mental mind shit,’ as you so eloquently put it, and drag his ass back here by force if need be.”

The calmness in Jules’s voice and the throb of pain in his hands combined to create a sort of pressure valve, and as quickly as it had come, the flaring anger bled away. He looked at Jules for a moment, the absence of adrenaline making him feel somehow  _ less, _ and then walked over to sprawl on the couch. Jules moved over wordlessly. Micah sank into the cushions with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry. I know he’ll be fine. It’s just, after—”

— _ The three of them crowded in the kitchen, Jules and Micah arguing over something stupid, and Lucian sidling over behind Micah with the excuse of reaching into a cabinet, his right hand pressing purposefully on Micah’s hip as he stretched up to reach it. Half-asleep conversations as Micah tried to stay awake to stave off the dreams, comments that were somehow heated, suggestive, like they held a secret. Luc walking into the bathroom buck naked while Micah stepped from the shower, offering only a smirk and an up-quirked eyebrow at the prophet’s stammered protests— _

“—the last few days, I... I don’t know, I just wasn’t expecting him to leave.” Micah grabbed one of the discarded couch pillows from the floor and half-hugged it to himself. If he was lucky, or if Jules wasn’t in a dick mood, Jules wouldn’t comment on the flush in his face or the rising erection evident at the front of his sweats. Micah wondered if the reddening of his face was obvious enough in the light from the kitchen.

“Yeah, the last few days have been... interesting.” Jules smirked. He wondered just how oblivious Micah thought he was.

_ Jules watching Luci’s hand rove over Micah’s hip with a flimsy excuse and being only a little surprised he isn’t called out on it. Watching from down the hall as Luci enters the bathroom bare ass naked and hearing Micah’s indignant shout and loud protests. Luci coming up behind Micah and massaging his shoulders with a few slow, kneading movements and moving on like nothing happened, the slightly open mouth and dilated pupils Micah can’t hide fast enough to keep away from neither Luci’s nor Jules’s eyes— _

At least Luci is closer to Jules’s level of perverted, and tells Jules his plans in excruciating detail half the time.

_ Luci winking at Jules from behind Micah before he goes in for a grope that would get him slapped by someone who wasn’t aware that it’d probably be taken as flirting back. Jules wondering aloud what kind of underwear Micah wore the first week they were together and Luci getting a deliciously evil grin on his face. Luci loudly detailing exactly how he’d take Micah, the prophet in the next room no doubt trying to drown out his voice with earbuds and deafeningly loud music— _

Jules, however, didn’t act on the thoughts those memories brought up. He could tell that Micah probably wasn’t in the mood for anything, despite the rather obvious erection. He seemed emotionally exhausted but sexually ready to go, which usually meant sleep and then sex first thing in the morning from what Jules knew. So, rather than commenting further, Jules just put one arm behind his head as a pillow and the other on Micah’s head, carding through his hair in a way that probably shocked the shit out of his friend.

Micah jumped when he felt Jules’s fingers in his hair at first, bracing for a hard yank that never came. Instead, Jules was almost petting him. Combined with the sudden adrenaline hangover, Micah felt shivers course down his spine. He hummed his satisfaction at his friend, deciding it was too damn late, or too damn early, and he was too damn tired to start questioning Jules’s motives. He never really got an answer when he did, anyway. When he blinked, his eyes fluttered, and then stayed shut. He felt himself drifting into that halfway house between awake and asleep, and thought he might be able to get another couple hours of rest, when suddenly there was the sound of breaking glass and expletives from upstairs. He was instantly awake, heart pumping again, eyes wide and confused. He and Jules tripped over each other on the way up the stairs.

As Micah and Jules burst into the room, Lux couldn’t keep himself from laughing. Partially because he had fallen and broken several things on his way down, but mostly it was because of Micah’s expression. Jules watched, smirking slightly. That kind of smirk you’d want to either kiss or punch right off his face.

Micah stared at Luc, whose laughter seemed too loud and out of place. "What the  _ fuck _ , Luc?" he shouted, unsure of whether he was more confused or angry.

Lux smiled up at him innocently—well, as innocent as Lux could get—and pointedly batted his eyelashes at Micah. "What? Did you miss lil' old me?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

" _ Miss _ you?" Micah shouted. "What the fuck? You fucking  _ vanished _ ! Out of nowhere! In the middle of the fucking night! I thought you  _ died _ . What the fuck, man, you could have— You didn't—" His fists were clenched again, he realized, nails digging little crescents into his palms. Yeah, he'd definitely settled on  _ angry _ .

"You're adorable when you're flustered like this.” Lux laughed.

It was the laughter that did it. Micah crossed the tiny room in a stride and a half, pulled one hand back, and sent his fist flying straight at Luc's mouth. The punch connected and pain jolted through Luc's body, but Lux wasn't really concerned. If anything it was even more hilarious. "Kittens got claws."

"Fuck you!  _ Fuck  _ you!" Micah swung again, trying to connect with whatever he reached first—two more towards Luc's face, one aimed wildly at his shoulder, and a full-force swing straight towards his gut. He'd lost all coherent motivation, the only goal in his mind being to get Luc to shut his mouth. Lux dodged one right into the other, getting a fist to the gut. He doubled over, not really caring about the pain, even though it was going to take a toll on Luc's body. When he straightened up he got into a fighting stance, and laughed before saying, "Is that all you've got? You wanna go, let's go. It'll be fun."

Micah, with a hoarse and wordless roar, flung himself forward, arms outstretched. He would either pin Luc to the wall or send them both crashing to the floor. At this point, he decided, he'd be okay with either.

The sudden rush sent Micah flying at Lux, who let Micah pin him against the wall briefly before Lux grabbed him around his waist and tackled him to the floor.

"Get  _ off  _ of me you fucking  _ dick _ !" Micah shouted. His bare back stung as it scraped against the threadbare carpet of Luc's room. He aimed a knee at Luc's groin, knowing he would probably miss, but too pissed to care.

"You wanna fight dirty?" Lux questioned as he  blocked Micah’s knee with a twist of his torso and continued to pin Micah to the ground. "I'll show you dirty."

Micah struggled, but Luc dodged his clumsy, wrongly-angled blows easily, and Micah knew he was not going to get free of the pin. "Shut up, I  _ want  _ you to shut the  _ fuck  _ up!"

"He said with extra emphasis on 'want' and 'fuck'. Message received, Micah. I read you loud and clear." Lux nearly purred.

Micah continued struggling, but his breath was coming too fast, and he felt the familiar twist of heat in his gut, and knew that his body was reacting to the tone of Luc's voice—so similar to all the dreams he’d been having.  He bucked his hips up in an effort to throw the other man off, and realized immediately that this was a mistake—the friction through nothing but sweatpants sent tremors through him, and he bit his lip to keep from groaning aloud.

Lux put his weight on his hands and knees so he could press quick gentle kisses to Micah's face and neck before Micah could object. "Why are you constantly fighting against your base urges? If you want to fuck me, fuck me. If you want to kill someone, kill them. If you want something, take it, it's yours. Who is going to stop you? Certainly not Jules or I."

Micah's breath hissed through clenched teeth. "I— fuck—" he gasped. His newly freed hands clenched the back of Luc's shirt, and rather than pulling him off, he dragged him down, closer. "I can't— I don't—  _ fuck _ ." He was pressing his hips up towards Luc's, his teeth dragging along Luc's neck. He was hard again, there was no question about that, but the cant of Luc's hips and the denim of his jeans kept him from knowing for sure if Luc was serious, or just baiting him, stringing him along to laugh about it with Jules later.

"So much doubt, so much doubt.  _ Shhhh _ ." Lux whispered, peppering more kisses on Micah's warm skin. Lux ground down against Micah's hard on, trying to convey that it wasn't just one sided, that Lucian, Lucifer, Lux—all of them—wanted this, wanted him as much as Micah denied that he wanted them.

Micah swallowed his reply in a gasping gulp, knotting one hand into Luc's hair. The hand not twined in blond curls was between them, fumbling for belts or buttons or whatever the fuck he could find at Luc's waist.

Lux found a steady, grinding rhythm while Micah abandoned Luc's fly, frustrated, and instead put both his hands on the boy's shoulders, pressing gently until Lux got the picture and they rolled themselves over. Micah grasped the hem of Luc's shirt and pulled it up, over his head, tossing it carelessly to the other side of the tiny room. He pressed kisses to Luc's collar bones, suddenly nothing short of entranced by the planes of Luc's chest, all lean muscle over sharp bones. He found himself grinding against Lux like some over-eager puppy, but he couldn't quite find it in himself to stop, small moans slipping past his lips.

Luc suddenly puched Micah’s shoulders firmly. Micah sat up, confused.

“Listen,” Luc said, face flushed but otherwise seeming rather unaffected by their activities. Micah saw the pinpricks of pupil among wide irises and his stomach sank.  _ Lucifer.  _ “It’s been a long day, Micah. The bo—I need food. You look like you haven’t slept in days. I’m safe, and I appreciate you worrying, but now’s not the time.”

Micah opened his mouth as if he was going to argue, but the wide brown pools of Luc’s eyes almost laughed at him. What did God’s betrayed son care for the human desires of a prophet?

Micah got up and adjusted himself the best he could. He didn’t make eye contact with Jules, who—as usual—was hovering in the corner, smirking, and he stayed facing resolutely away from Luc. He tried again to say something, but he felt the shake in his voice before he spoke, and decided not to.

Not for the first time, he was grateful he’d chosen the attic, so he could storm off to his room and pull the stairs up after him, locking his housemates—especially the goddamn fucking  _ fallen angel _ —out with a well-tied cord from the trapdoor to the attic rafter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Micah goes to confront Lucian about being an absolute raging asshole and things... escalate. Quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please heed the new tags added for this chapter!
> 
> ALSO: THERE IS NOT A TAG FOR NON-CON because Cactus and I don't feel it's non-con, but there are sexual activities while both parties have smoked weed and are somewhat feeling the effects

**Micah, the next morning.**

Micah had grown so accustomed to the smell of weed since moving into the house that he almost didn’t register the fresh smoke coming through his window, despite the fact that he usually slammed shut the dilapidated pane as soon as he smelled it. It wasn’t that he _disliked_ the smell, particularly; in fact, there were times he found it pleasant. It was more the knowledge that Jules and Luc would be high afterward, on the other side of another line Micah couldn’t cross. They would go somewhere he couldn’t follow, and he got tired of watching them leave. 

When the smell of smoke came up from the patio, Micah was face-down on the bed, face buried in the pile that was his quilt and the headphones Jules had gifted him—stolen, no doubt, but he tried not to think about that—blasting She Wants Revenge. He was moping, he knew it, but it was hard not to. His thoughts swung wildly between anger at Luc for treating him like a joke, fear for his frequent disappearances, and disgust in himself for being drawn back to Luc and Jules’s bullshit again and again. Part of him wanted to sleep until it all blew over, part of him wanted to find Luc Sharpe and kiss his stupid mouth, and part of him wanted to break Luc’s jaw. When the jealousy sank in, mixing strangely with the heat that had been swirling in his gut since the night before on Lucian’s floor, he just assumed it was another item on the list of pointless, frustrating emotions. By the time he recognized the thick, green smell for what it was, there was a haze of smoke in his room.

All of his fragmented emotions turned into a hot, liquid ball of anger in the pit of his stomach, and he snatched his jacket—eschewing his shirt again—and took the stairs two at a time. He slammed the broken screen door open loudly, and was only further incensed by what he saw—Luc, entirely unbothered by Micah’s dramatic entrance and looking unrepentant for the previous night’s end, leaning against the wall with his pipe in his hand and soft, white smoke billowing from his mouth.

“You fucking _cocksucker,”_ Micah growled, jaw clenching along with his chest. He came down the back steps until he was even with Luc, staring at him, ready to… he didn’t know. Hit him again?

Luc looked up from his pipe calmly, the bruise on his cheekbone from Micah’s punch the night before small but obvious on his face. He let the last of the smoke trail from his mouth and into the chilly breeze. “So you keep reminding me,” he said.

“You’re blowing fucking smoke in my room, asshole.”

“Oh.” Luc glanced at his pipe and then up at Micah’s attic window. “Sorry, man.”

“That’s all you have to say?” Micah said incredulously. 

“Not necessarily, but I’m not sure if you’re trying to fight me or fuck me right now.”

“I am _not a fucking faggot!”_ Micah shouted, taking a step forward.

Luc’s face, neutral to this point, hardened, as if Lucifer had dropped in unexpectedly. “What the fuck did you just say?” he asked.

“You guys can rag on me all you want about wanting to fuck you, and Lucifer can do all the fucking weird mind shit he wants—”

“Lucifer doesn’t do _anything_ to you!”

“—but you can’t drag me into fucking you. It’s not happening.” Micah was trembling again, although he wasn’t entirely certain if it was anger at Luc or the cold air sneaking through his jacket zipper and onto his stupid bare chest. 

“You need to fucking chill out, Micah,” Luc said coolly. “Before you say something else you’ll regret.”

“Man, _fuck_ this!” Micah grabbed the old teacup he’d been using as an ashtray from the picnic table and threw it at the weathered siding of the house. Luc made no move to stop him.

“Feel better?” Luc asked.

“ _No!”_ Micah roared, and he collapsed into the dilapidated garden bench the previous owners had left on the concrete. Luc didn't say anything for a while, just let Micah sit with his head in his hands until the cold metal of the bench made his shivers worse.

“Listen, come inside, smoke with me.”

“You know weed just fucks with my already fucked-up head,” Micah said. He felt less angry and could only hope that Luc heard it in his voice.

“I have an idea, come on. You’re freezing. Just come inside.”

“Fine,” Micah agreed. It took an impossible amount of effort to get himself off the bench. His whole body felt numb but heavy, like he was dragging around dead weight, and his headache from the night before had not quite left. He followed Luc into the kitchen, which was a bright yellow that could have been garish but was surprisingly nice, and sat down at the small table. Luc set his stash box down and he also sat.

“You ever shotgunned?” “Like, a beer?”

Luc looked up curiously, his rummaging interrupted. “How does that work?”

“You push your thumb into the bottom of the can, like, on the side but low down, and when it breaks upen you pop the top so you have, whatever, airflow or something. You chug it in one go.”

“That sounds… unpleasant,” Luc said, making an almost delicate face of disgust. “No, I was talking about smoke.”

“Uh, no, definitely not. I’ve only smoked a handful of times and they were… horrendous.” He decided now was not the moment to tell Luc that smoking may have been one of the things that triggered the episode he had right before Peter died.

“I think,” Luc said, laying supplies out on the table, “that it might be a way for you to get a less intense hit. Maybe it’ll take the edge off without making your brain suck.”

“That would be… really nice,” Micah admitted. “I didn’t mean it, what I said out there. The slur. I’m just…”

“Tired?” Luc suggested, taking a rolling paper from the packet and flattening it onto the table. He picked up his grinder next and opened it up, making a satisfied sound. “Anxious? Homesick?” He spread the weed he’d left in the grinder across the rolling paper with the tips of his fingers. To Micah, it seemed like an impossibly delicate task. “Afraid?” Luc looked up from his task straight at Micah, and when they made eye contact, Micah’s entire body felt like it was filled with pins and needles. It felt like Luc saw through him, or worse, all the way into the depth of him, where the murky waters bred thoughts Micah himself tried his best to ignore.

“Yeah,” he croaked out quietly.

“It’s gonna be fine, Micah,” Luc assured him, turning his eyes back to his joint. He didn’t say anything after that, too intent on his craftsmanship. He stuck his tongue between his teeth while he focused, and rolled the paper into a U shape, back and forth several times until he was satisfied. Then he did something with his fingers Micah couldn’t quite follow, tucking the edge of the paper into itself so instead of a U, the paper was rolling into a tight O, looking like a cigarette without the filter. Luc stopped before the paper rolled the whole way around to drag his tongue along the edge, and Micah marveled at the way the onion-thin paper turned translucent in his mouth before he finished the roll and sealed it with a press and drag from both his thumbs.

“Impressive,” Micah said, and when he swallowed he heard his throat click. Luc flashed him a smile as bright as the kitchen walls.

“Thanks. It’s my only talent,” he joked. “What was I saying before? Oh! Shotgunning! Right, well, when you do it with smoke it’s way less gross, I think. The idea is I take a hit from the joint, right, and I’m absorbing most of the THC and such, and you inhale what I _exhale,_ so it’s not as strong.”

“Not as strong sounds… promising?” Micah said, uncertain. “So what, I’m like, awkwardly sniffing your face?” He laughed. The image of Jules sniffing one of them like a puppy sprang into his head for some reason, and he wasn’t sure he could keep a straight face let alone properly inhale anything if that was what he would be doing.

Luc was also laughing. “Not quite,” he said. He had the joint in one hand and his lighter, a black one that said SUCKS TO SUCK, in the other. “You want me to show you?”

“Yeah, sure,” Micah agreed. “Anything to make me feel less like shit, honestly.”

“I feel you,” Luc said earnestly, and then he was standing and lighting the end of the joint and hollowing his cheeks to inhale, to make sure the end lit properly. He inhaled a long time and then held the smoke in his lungs, which always seemed weird to Micah, smoker of only cigarettes. Then, before he could think much about the exhale that came logically after, Luc was leaning towards him. Micah scrambled to his feet to meet him, ready to make a fool of himself, when Luc’s lips ghosted over his and a stream of smoke was flowing towards his mouth. Micah opened his mouth, though whether it was to inhale the smoke or make an objection he hadn’t decided, when Luc’s hand came up and touched his jaw, pulling him that half an inch closer.

Micah’s lips barely brushed Lucian’s as he inhaled the second-hand smoke, but he thought he felt every atom that did. Then, before he could get a handle on it, Luc was pulling back, taking his hand from Micah’s face, and Micah was standing in the middle of the kitchen looking like ( _the village idiot!_ Tammy’s voice screamed) a dumbass.

“Okay?” Luc asked. Micah scrambled to find something to say.

“I, uh—”

“I think you missed, like, half the smoke,” Luc said, but he was grinning mischievously. “Wanna go again?”

“Sure,” Micah breathed. Luc took another drag, his eyes shut, and Micah found himself noticing the freckles across his nose again, too faint to see unless you were standing right next to him. Luc stepped forward, and Micah met him in the middle of the space between them, so close to those freckles he thought he could memorize them.

Then Luc’s lips, chapped and warm, were on his, and Micah opened his mouth.

He tasted the smoke but it didn’t make his throat burn or his head swim the way it usually did. And it was… different. Less abrasive. It tasted more like it smelled and less like it was trying to kill him. He thought he tasted the mint of Luc’s toothpaste underneath. The thought sent a twist to his gut, and he almost pulled away then, ran back to the attic and locked the trap door, but Luc’s mouth was still on his, and Micah was running out of space to inhale, so when Luc dragged his tongue over Micah’s lower lip, he stopped breathing entirely for a moment before the air was driven out of him in a low moan that he would have been embarrassed by if he’d had the mental capacity to actually hear it. He surged forward, tongue swiping awkwardly at Luc’s mouth, feeling giddy and desperate and like maybe if he was careful they could gloss over the whole “this is Micah’s first kiss” conversation later.

Luc pressed a warm hand to Micah’s waist and walked him backwards until his ass hit the table. Then Luc’s lips were gone from his mouth. 

“No—!” Micah said before he could stop himself. Luc leaned around him and fiddled with something on the table.

“I’m putting out the joint, Christ, do you want me to set you on fire?”

Micah blushed so completely that he was sure Luc could feel the heat of it. “I, uh—”

“Holy shit, you do,” Luc said, sounding awed. “You want me to fucking burn you up.” He pressed his lips to Micah’s again. Micah, unprepared, mostly mashed his teeth up against his own closed mouth. Luc didn’t seem to mind, just pulled back until Micah got his shit together and tried again. Luc nipped gently at Micah’s mouth and traced lines with his tongue again. Micah tried to mirror him, to remember was he was doing and do it back, but mostly he was floundering somewhere in a bright red color in his head, focused on the warmth of Luc’s breath and the feeling of Luc’s hands—both of them now—at his waist. 

Then Micah felt himself growing hard in his jeans, and that lit up his fight-or-flight again. His heart was a feral creature, used to fear and fighting, ready to pounce with claws made of damning insults that only hid his terror. He tried to physically back up and was met with the kitchen table. He pushed at Luc’s chest, ready to swing when Luc didn’t move, but Luc stepped back easily.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked. Micah said nothing, just stood rigid and thrumming against the table. Luc let the silence stretch on for a moment, and then asked, “Did I do something you didn’t want?”

Micah almost snapped at him, hurled something acidic and untrue about Luc trying to turn everyone queer, but when he opened his mouth to say so, he found himself saying, “No, no, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Luc assured him, still standing a solid three steps away, hands in the pockets of his jeans, determinedly not reaching for Micah. Micah took a shaky breath and looked up at him properly. Worry was etched into his face, but there was no malice there, nothing that said _I told you so._ Micah’s body felt too loud, his fear too big. Then Luc flicked his tongue over his bottom lip—entirely innocently, Micah was sure—and it undid him. He closed the space between them again and he ran the pad of his thumb over Luc’s lip, just to feel the softness of it. A small, needy sound came from Luc’s throat then, but his hands remained firmly in his pockets.

“Is this okay?” Micah asked. Luc nodded.

“I’m sorry,” Luc said.

“I—no, it’s me—”

“Do you want another hit?” Luc asked, eyes flicking to the joint behind them.

Micah took another deep breath and considered for a moment. “I think—is that okay?”

Luc smiled, and it was amazing how easily the worry melted from his face. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

“Can we… do the thing again?”

“Shotgunning? Yeah, of course.” Luc took the joint from the table and his lighter from his pocket and got it going again. Micah watched his mouth, the way he licked his lips first so the paper didn’t stick, the way his lips touched the joint just enough to keep the smoke from escaping as he inhaled. He took a small drag, enough to get the cherry going, and then looked up at Micah again.

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

Luc took a longer hit, drawing the smoke into his lungs, and then rested the joint on the ashtray first this time. Micah took the awkward, stumbling step towards him, pressing his hands to Luc’s chest and his mouth to Luc’s mouth. The smoke was warm from Luc’s body, which sent a shiver down his spine, and he thought he felt a buzz in his head that hadn’t been there before. Micah moved a hand tentatively to Luc’s waist, afraid to hurt him, afraid Luc would push him away, afraid of the _gotcha!_ he couldn’t quite convince himself wasn’t coming. 

It didn’t. Luc hummed into Micah’s mouth and leaned in to the touch. Micah wound his fingers into the fabric of Luc’s shirt. Luc’s hands were resting on the edge of the table, bracketing Micah’s hips but not touching. Micah felt both grateful and upset with himself for making Luc—bold, determined, brave Luc—feel so cautious. But then Luc’s tongue was tracing the roof of Micah’s mouth, right behind his teeth, and Micah stopped worrying about Luc’s hands much. 

They stood there, touching at small points, and kissed until Micah couldn’t breathe. He pulled away gently, gasping breath, but kept his hand in Luc’s shirt, resting against the heat of his skin. As he inhaled, he felt like his body was rising softly from the floor, hovering above the tile. There was a pleasant vibration in the tips of his fingers and when he glanced from Luc’s lips—god, would he ever be able to look at anything else ever again?—to his wide eyes, a soft, warm brown that made Micah think of early summer in the Catskill mountains, he felt like the images dragged past, leaving trails.

Luc must have seen something in Micah’s expression, because he grinned again. “You feelin’ good?”

“Yeah,” Micah agreed, rolling his shoulders just to feel some of the tension leave. “Yeah, fuck. This is the first time I’ve felt calm since… I left.”

“Good,” Luc said nodding. He raised a hand into Micah’s field of view and slowly moved it to Micah’s shoulder, telegraphing so hard he might as well have been narrating. There was that gut-twist of guilt again, that Micah had made him so careful, but this time his animal heart didn’t try to flee when Luc’s fingers bushed Micah’s neck. “Micah, do you want to come upstairs with me?” Luc asked. He brought his hand back down to the table, as if worried that Micah couldn’t feel and think at the same time. “It’s okay to take time to think about it. I’m not on a schedule. And you can say no, okay?”

This was… too much information. Maybe he _couldn’t_ feel and think at the same damn time. He felt pressure at the edges of his eyes and thought for a horrible moment that he was about to have a vision, here, inches from Lucian Sharpe’s beautiful goddamn face, but he sucked in a panicked breath and it abated; good old-fashioned anxiety, then. Micah closed his eyes and tried to get his bearings. Luc had asked him a question, Luc would want a goddamn answer— 

“Micah, are you with me?”

“Yeah. Yes,” Micah confirmed, eyes still shut. 

“Okay,” Luc said, and he was quiet again. He didn’t push, didn’t ask again, just waited, hands still resting on either side of Micah’s hips without touching him. Micah’s grip on Luc’s shirt was so tight that he thought he might permanently stretch it, but Luc didn’t seem to mind.

“Yes,” Micah said.

“Yes?”

“Yes, I’ll—can we—upstairs?”

Luc let out a breath Micah hadn’t thought he was holding. “Yeah, Micah, I’d like that.” Now Luc did tap Micah’s hand with his own, getting Micah to release his vice-grip. Luc replaced it with his own hand, which he used to coax Micah away from the kitchen table and up the narrow stairs to the upstairs hallway, where his and Jules’s bedrooms rested on either side and Micah’s trap door hid the attic ladder.

“My room?” Luc asked, looking back at Micah, who still followed him with a clasped hand. 

Micah thought of Luc in _his_ roomfor a second, laying on his quilt, head on the pillow, hands pulling at the sheets, and he felt the caged thing in his chest start to bristle.

“Your room,” Micah confirmed hoarsely. It occurred to him as they slipped inside that he had no idea if Jules was even home. If he was, he was probably listening to them and laughing. Micah pushed _that_ thought aside until he had the brainpower to unpack it properly.

As soon as Micah pushed the door shut, Luc’s hands were on his shoulders, gently coaxing him backwards. Micah went willingly until his back was against the wall, and then Luc was kissing him again; first his mouth, then his jaw, then the side of his neck. Micah was nervous, but it felt so good, so he let himself ride the feeling for a while, float off on it as Luc moved along his collarbone and to the V of his jacket zipper, high on his chest. Luc tugged experimentally on the zipper and asked, “Can I?”

Micah, who didn’t trust himself to talk, nodded. Luc slowly dragged the zipper down his chest, past his sternum, and he laughed softly. “You’re not wearing a shirt, Mr. Modesty,” he joked.

“Thought it would get you—” _Angry,_ his brain reminded him. _Distracted,_ his wild heart whispered.

“Worked up?” Luc prompted.

“Yeah. That.” 

“Well, it worked,” Luc agreed, and he pulled on the zipper, following it with his mouth until the jacket hung open to the waist, exposing Micah’s bare chest. Micah jumped when Luc got to his navel, and then hissed a breath through his teeth when Luc got to his waistband. Before he could decide if he felt remotely ready for that, Luc was reversing his path, sucking small red spots up Micah’s torso. He stepped back, admiring the view.

“You look good like this,” Luc said.

“Thanks?” Micah said, entirely unable to think of any other proper response.

“You’re very welcome,” Luc agreed, coming forward to kiss Micah again. For someone who had had his first kiss less than fifteen minutes ago, Micah thought he was doing pretty okay. Luc hadn’t backed off or said _ouch_ yet, at least.

Luc, who had mostly been keeping space between them, eventually couldn’t help himself and pressed his body against Micah’s. Micah felt the heat of his skin through the thin t-shirt Luc wore, and Luc’s legs tangled with his, which was an odd sensation until—

_“Oh,_ ” Micah said as Luc’s thigh pressed firm and warm between his legs. He found himself wishing he had worn sweats, like Luc, and not jeans which seemed intent on depriving him the full impact of the feeling. Luc was kissing Micah’s neck, and Micah slowly realized that he could feel Lucian, hot and hard, against his hip. He felt as if there were two of him—one here, in Lucian’s room, under his diligent hands and hot, sweet mouth, and another clinging to his back like a parasite, whispering in his ear that he was dirty, disgusting, that people like him burned in hell.

_Fuck it,_ he thought, _and fuck you._ He tilted Luc’s face up from where he was nuzzled against Micah’s neck and kissed him, hard and determined, as he brought one hand between them to rub up against Luc’s cock through his pants. Luc gasped and then, to Micah’s chagrin and confusion, stepped back and gently took Micah’s hand in his, away from his cock.

“Hey, you didn’t do anything wrong, I just wanna check in for a second,” Luc said, either seeing the emotion on Micah’s face or—more likely—just being able to read him that well. In order to prove his point, Luc kissed Micah’s hand, once each across his knuckles. It thrilled Micah enough to dampen down the panic rising in him.

“Can you promise to be honest with me, Micah?” Luc asked. The wording made his defensive instincts scream _angry!_ but Luc’s face looked concerned, not upset.

“Yeah, Luc, of course.”

“This isn’t a judgement, darlin’, okay? It’s an honest question.” Luc brushed his lips across the back of Micah’s hand again, and Micah had an absurd memory of _Fight Club,_ of Tyler Durden kissing a lye-burn onto the narrator’s unreliable, traitorous hand. “Have you ever had sex with a man?”

Heat flooded through him again, shame and embarrassment and excitement, and he thought of Peter, of lying on the same bed with their naked cocks in hand, and Tammy barging in—

“No,” he said, and his voice was strained. “I had a friend, we—there was—but we never touched each other.”

Luc nodded and brushed a piece of hair from Micah’s forehead. “Have you ever slept with anyone, Micah?”

He had the awful desire to defend himself, the idea of Luc, the boy on the phone he was trying to impress, and Luc, the person who had just sucked a string of hickeys down his chest not connecting in his head. He bit down on his bottom lip harder than he meant to, but the taste of blood was faint and disconnected also, hidden behind adrenaline and pot smoke. Then he looked at Luc’s face again, soft and patient, that smattering of freckles close enough to count, which was as good as a declaration of trust as far as Micah was concerned.

“No,” he breathed. 

“Okay,” Luc said, brushing his hand through Micah’s hair.

“Okay?”

“It ain’t a problem, but it changes some things.”

“I’m sorry,” Mich said immediately. “I’m sorry, Luc, I—” Luc laid two fingers gently over Micah’s lips. The hushing gesture would have made his blood boil in any other circumstance, but this time, he hushed. 

“Can I be honest with you now?” Luc asked. Micah nodded. “I like you, Micah. I’ve been wild for you since we were barely more’n kids. I want you, and I’ll have you if you let me, but not for one second do I want to do anything if you’re only doing it because you think you owe me, or because you’re high, or God help me, because you’re afraid of Lucifer. I will never forgive myself.”

Micah shook his head. “It’s not—I—” He took a breath, stopped, tried again. “I want to touch you so badly it scares the living shit outta me,” he confessed finally.

“Okay. I’m gonna sound like a fuckin’ asshole about this, but we gotta lay down some rules before we keep going.”

Micah couldn’t help it—he groaned, impatient. Luc chuckled. 

“I know, M, but you trust me, right? If anything, _anything_ I do makes you feel like running, you run. You understand me? I don’t care if you feel like you need to give me a fucking black eye—” Micah’s eyes flicked guiltily to the bruise on Luc’s cheekbone. “—or one of us is seconds away from finishing, you go first and we can talk about it later, alright?” Micah hesitated, thinking, _I’d let him flay me alive right now if he wanted to._ Luc, again, must have seen something on his face, because he frowned. “Micah,” he said. “You’re thinking something stupid.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, but do promise me you’ll go if you need to. Listen,” he implored, cutting off Micah’s next apology. “Micah, I’ve… I was an asshole sometimes, when I was younger. I didn’t know it then but I do now. I won’t do that to you. If you can’t promise me you can leave if whatever is bothering you gets bad, I can’t do this now.”

“Okay.”

“Okay to make me shut up, or okay you’ll go?”

“I’ll go,” Micah confirmed. “I will, I swear, can you just—” He ran his hands over Luc’s back, slipped his hands up under the hem of Luc’s t-shirt so he was touching bare skin, _finally,_ and kissed Luc’s swollen lips, catching Luc’s reply in his teeth. Luc grunted in agreement and pushed Micah back against the wall again, tangling his hand in Micah’s hair and giving it a gentle, experimental tug.

Micah felt his knees give out, but the sensation was pleasant rather than uncomfortable, especially since it made Luc’s grip on his hair stronger. Luc chuckled and pulled Micah’s head to the side to suck another hickey onto his neck. When Luc stepped back it took Micah a solid three seconds to regain his ability to stand. Luc took advantage of this and undid the last bit of zipper on Micah’s jacket, pushing it off his shoulders. Micah shrugged it off and grabbed the hem of Luc’s shirt, lifting it up and over his head and tossing it aside.

Lucian Sharpe shirtless was better in person than any of the half-imagined fantasies Micah had had through the course of their friendship. The muscles in his arms and chest were strong, not like he tried a lot to make them that way, but because he used them often enough that they were capable and ready. The lines of his clavicles were sharp, leading into the planes of his chest and the shadow of his ribcage as he moved. A trail of blond hair started near his navel and led temptingly to the low waistband of his grey sweatpants, slung low on his hips.

More intense, and unexpected, if only because Micah always forgot, were Luc’s tattoos. The huge, feathered wings went from his shoulder blades all the way to his elbows and halfway down his back. Some feathers, drawn to look like they had come loose, fell forward over his left shoulder. The top ridge of the wing was a bare bone towards Luc’s spine, and the way the artist had drawn it made it look like it was bursting almost painfully from Luc’s scapula. The feathers themselves looked delicate and soft, with the highlights using Luc’s skin tone so they looked like they were a part of him and the shadows so black Micah thought he could drop something into them and never hear it land.

Micah didn’t know where to start. He stared open-mouthed at Luc, wanting to touch him but afraid his filthy hands would ruin everything. Luc didn’t seem to mind. He let Micah’s eyes roam hungrily over his skin, trying to take in every detail, convinced that he would never be able to keep something so beautiful. _Beautiful,_ he wanted to say to Luc. _Don’t you know you’re fucking beautiful?_

“You’re not gonna hurt me,” Luc said. He reached out for one of Micah’s hands, and Micah let him place it gently on Luc’s chest, just above his heart. He felt the beat of the muscle there, hammering away like his own pulse. Fuck, when was the last time he felt someone else’s pulse? Freshman year health class, probably, for a CPR certification that had expired before he even graduated. _Useless,_ he thought. _Look at you, frozen in place by someone’s fucking heartbeat._

Micah went from Luc’s chest to the feathers floating over his shoulder. “I didn’t know your tattoos were so…”

“Big?”

“Detailed,” Micah countered. “Realistic. They’re perfect.”

Luc, shockingly, blushed. “Thanks,” he said, rubbing at the back of his neck. “No one’s seen them since they were finished. Uh, other than my artist and me, I guess.”

“No one?” This stopped Micah in his tracks, fingers poised over the feather that dipped between Luc’s collarbone and his shoulder. “Didn’t you finish them like, last Christmas?”

“I haven’t… been shirtless around anyone for a while,” Luc mumbled, and now _he_ was smiling awkwardly and not quite meeting Micah’s eyes. Micah wanted to ask why, wanted to hear Luc say he’d been waiting on Micah, the way Micah thought maybe he’d been unconsciously waiting for Luc, but the weight of that sat heavy in his stomach and he pushed the focus back to Luc’s tattoos.

“Can I see your back?” Micah asked. Luc spread his arms out and turned obligingly. In full view, the wings looked like they could flutter to life any second. Micah reached out and touched the wing joints at the top of Luc’s spine, where they almost touched. Luc shivered, as if Micah had actually carded his hands through wing feathers. Encouraged, Micah traced the shape of some of the feathers gently with the thin edge of his thumb nail. 

“You’re not gonna hurt me,” Luc said for the second time, but his voice sounded breathy.

“I don’t wanna scratch you,” Micah said.

“You can.”

“I—” Micah was flummoxed. He understood the idea of pain and sex together in theory, but he’d figured it was a one or the other type deal. You were either enjoying the sex or the hurting. Not both. Luc, contrary to this idea, seemed excited by the prospect. Curious, Micah pressed his nail into Luc’s skin, crudely tracing the outline of a feather in red, raised lines. Luc let his head tip back and hummed a pleased sound. Micah went back and traced the shape again with the pad of his thumb, and goosebumps rose up on Luc’s back. Luc let himself revel in the feeling for a moment before turning back around, hiding the majority of the wings from view, and kissed Micah again. It was different with nothing between them, chest to chest, and Micah found himself wanting, feeling desperate, as if Luc would disappear and never return, so he had to do this _now._

Luc’s kisses were equally frantic, and his hands slid over Micah’s sides, fingertips flirting with the waistband of his jeans. “Can I?” he gasped between kisses.

“Please,” Micah agreed, electricity rolling down his spine. “God, please.”

Luc found the button of Micah’s jeans, making him jump as Luc’s fingers found a sensitive spot on Micah’s stomach. Then Luc was deftly undoing the button, and Micah was kicking the awkward tangle of denim off his feet, tossing it indifferently into Luc’s room where it would mix with Luc’s clothes until he tried to pull them on and found them six inches too short. He felt strange in just his boxer-briefs, exposed and vulnerable, and he felt his fear awakening in his chest again, ready to fight. Luc must have felt it because he stepped away—what a dance they were doing, one step forward and two steps back—and shucked his own pants from his legs. There he was, Luc Sharpe without pants, and Micah thought it was better than anything else he’d ever seen. 

“Bed?” Luc asked, gesturing to it. It was a tangle of blankets, and the intimacy of falling into Luc’s unmade bed was almost overwhelming. But Micah managed to nod and sit awkwardly on the corner— 

_a flash memory of Peter’s room, sitting tense and awkward on the corner of his bed as he touched himself—_

—until Luc climbed into bed and pulled him down. They lay side by side, all light touches and slow, wonderful kisses, until Micah thought he’d go mad if he didn’t get to touch Luc properly. He traced the swirl of Luc’s navel, the trail of golden hair, and then ran his hand down the hard line of Luc’s cock in his underwear. 

“Fuck, Micah,” Luc groaned, pressing his hips forward against Micah’s touch. “You’re making me feel so fucking good.”

Micah’s head was full of bright light every time Luc touched him, and there were so many things he wanted to say: _you’re perfect, look at you, I can’t believe you think I’m worthy of touching you, I swear I’d do anything to stay here and do this forever, I’ve wanted to do this since we were seventeen._ But his voice wouldn’t come, and he just pressed his mouth to Luc’s neck and his hand to Luc’s cock instead.

When Luc touched him through the fabric of his underwear, Micah thought he’d set fire. “Oh, oh _fuck,_ oh _fuck_ , Luc—” Luc followed the seam of the fly with his finger, barely adding pressure, and Micah swore he felt himself get harder. He definitely felt the precome that beaded at the tip of his cock and bled a wet spot into the fabric. Luc must have noticed also, because he brushed his thumb over it once, twice, three times, right over the head of Micah’s cock, and Micah couldn’t help but buck his hips up.

“Do you want these off?” Luc asked.

“Please, yes, off,” Micah agreed at the same time that he wondered if he could handle Luc actually touching him without either shoving him off or spontaneously combusting. Luc hooked his thumbs into the elastic and Micah lifted his hips at the last second, glad he’d thought of it without having to be asked. His cock sprang hard and heavy from its confines, and then Luc’s hand was there, wrapped around the shaft, pressing at the veins and stroking over the soft, sensitive skin.

He had time to think, _I’m glad it hasn’t been anyone except him_ , before coherent thought drifted away on a current into the ether.

Micah lost himself in a white-hot place somewhere in his own mind. He felt Luc’s hand and nothing else. Every new touch tried his willpower to not thrust into Luc’s hand like a fucking teenager. Luc was probably intent on Micah’s face—not that Micah could see it with his eyes closed—because he quickly learned what Micah liked: light touches, randomness over patterns, the jolt of surprise from something new or unexpected. Precome leaked steadily from his dick now, and periodically Luc would swipe his hand over it and slick Micah up, to make him feel as if he was about to shake apart.

The heat in Micah’s belly grew until he was fighting to hold back. “Wait, wait—!” Luc’s hand was gone immediately, and his absence was torture. Micah dragged air into his lungs before he tried to talk. “Don’t wanna—not yet.”

“Okay, babe,” Luc said easily, and God help him, Micah felt the endearment like a piercer’s needle in his chest. Once his head cleared and he felt less like he was about to come at the lightest brush to his cock, Micah turned his hands to Luc, touching the lines of his chest again, the scratch of day-old stubble on the line of his jaw, the curve of his back. His hands still shook; he couldn’t help it. It still felt like he’d been somehow blessed by a deity he didn’t quite believe in, or given a chance just so the Universe could watch and see how spectacularly he fucked up.

When he traced the line of the elastic on Luc’s waist with his thumbs, he heard Luc’s sharp gasp and felt the way every muscle in his midsection tensed. He did it again, just once, not quite able to believe he had power over such a thing. Then he hooked his thumbs under the elastic, like Luc had done, and met Luc’s eyes questioningly.

“Absolutely,” Luc breathed. “Please. Yes.”

Luc’s cock caught on the waistband as Micah pulled his underwear down Luc’s ridiculously long legs, and it slapped against his stomach as it came free, an amazing, impure sound that made Micah feel dizzy. Luc was different than Micah—longer, somehow darker despite Luc’s light skin, and uncut. Micah touched him at first the same way Luc had done: light brushes of his hands, light pressure in different places. Unlike Micah, he physically reacted to every touch. He bucked his hips, let small sounds fall from his mouth, wound one hand behind Micah’s neck and gripped there like it kept him anchored. Luc had no worries about seeming too eager, and Micah felt heady with power. Then Luc reached down to cover his hand, to guide him, and let himself be guided while Luc adjusted until Luc’s cock was against his, searing hot, incredibly hard. Luc guided Micah’s hand to Luc’s own cock and then wrapped his fingers around them both.

“Oh, Jesus,” Micah choked out. 

“Just do whatever you’d do for—for yourself,” Luc said, somewhat shakily. “I’ll adjust if I need.”

“Are you sure?” 

Luc nodded, and Micah wasted no more time. He gripped the bases of both their cocks, marvelling at the girth of the two of them, reveling in the feeling of Luc’s cock in his hand and also as a hard line against his own. His strokes were tentative at first as he acclimated to the size difference, but soon he found a rhythm that had him rutting against Luc, and Luc thrusting his hips also, so there was friction from both Micah’s hand and each other’s cocks. Micah kept it up until he felt that desperate, consuming heat, the kind he wanted to chase like a dog after a rabbit, and then he pulled his hand back, unable to keep himself from whimpering.

Luc, rather than belittle him for the noises, caught them in his own mouth, kissing Micah as if he hadn’t gotten enough of the taste of him. _Maybe he hasn’t,_ Micah thought. _Maybe he’s as addicted to this as I’m about to be._

Eventually Luc drew back to breathe, and the two of them paused for a moment, panting, flushed, and aching on Luc’s bed. Micah felt like he was about to cry, the world felt so… much. Everything was brighter, bigger, more. Even the light touch of Luc’s leg to his made bright bursts of color appear in Micah’s head, spreading like blossoms of ink in water.

“Micah,” Luc said eventually.

“Hm?”

“You okay?”

“Yes, yes, fuck, it’s just… a lot.”

“A lot good or a lot bad?”

“Good,” Micah assured him, leaning in for another kiss, sucking Luc’s bottom lip into his mouth and letting it go with a small _pop_ and a moan from Luc. “God, Luc, it’s so good.”

Luc nodded and brought a hand to Micah’s face again. Micah nuzzled into the touch and Luc asked, “Do you want to keep going?”

Something opened up in Micah’s chest, equal parts fear and wanting. He hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t thought he’d be able to even stand it this long without shooting off like a goddamn kid or losing grip on the leash of his terror and bolting. Luc was asking if Micah wanted to fuck him—or vice-versa, he supposed, depending on your interpretation. Micah had a swift, parallel image like a two-player split-screen in his head. In one, he was balls deep in Lucian’s ass, the heat of him second only to the vision that was his red and aching cock on his stomach; in the other, Luc was over him, all-consuming, taking him. Micah couldn’t even picture what it would feel like. He had done nothing like it.

“I don’t know,” Micah said honestly.

“Okay,” Luc said. “Wanna figure it out with me?”

It was the _with me_ that did it, truly. It pushed the rodent-panic back, walled it off in his head somewhere. “Yes,” said Micah.

“Do you wanna get off with me? Doesn’t matter how, just, at all.”

_“Yes,_ ” Micah insisted, so quickly after Luc’s question that Luc chuckled. 

“Okay. Do you want to get _me_ off?”

Micah was taken aback. “I didn’t think there was a question there. Luc, damn, of course.” Luc grinned and Micah saw a flush in his cheeks that tugged at his heart in ways that were too deep to look at now. If he did, they would sweep him away, and he wanted nothing more than to present now, to be here with Luc in his bedroom and nowhere else. 

“ _If_ we fuck—like, properly, or whatever, not like that’s the only way that counts—would you wanna top or bottom?”

“I—I don’t—” Micah was stymied. Neither was familiar territory, and what would _Luc_ want? From his vague understanding, people had pretty strong preferences, and Luc had slept with people before. Maybe he was used to women, to being inside someone else, maybe he liked to switch genders (or at least anatomy) so that there were times someone was inside _him—_

“Micah, you’re panicking,” Luc said gently. 

“...oh. Yep,” Micah acknowledged, feeling guilty.

“Darlin’,” Luc said, and the word thrilled Micah no less the second time. “If you have questions—” Luc paused to kiss Micah’s jaw, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. “—all you need to do is ask.”

“Are you a—do you—?” Micah couldn’t finish, couldn’t figure out how to get the words out of his mouth without sounding like a clueless virgin, which of course he _was_ , but he didn’t want to remind _Luc_ of right now.

“Do I prefer topping or bottoming? Pitching or catching? Fucking or being fucked?” Luc listed the terms with a smile and a sparkle in his eye. “Neither,” he said. “I’ve done both. I’ll do either. What are _you_ _least_ comfortable with? In theory?”

“Bottoming,” Micah answered immediately, and then looked away from Luc as his face turned red. “I just, I don’t… have any reference for that.”

“Okay,” Luc said. That was all, no teasing about Micah’s awkwardness or jibes against his lack of experience. “So, _if_ we fuck, I’ll bottom? Key word _if_.”

“Yes,” Micah agreed. 

“Do you think you want to?” Micah opened his mouth to answer and Luc once again laid a finger gently across his lips. “Think about it, M, don’t just spit an answer out.” Micah nodded. He _could_ say no, could let Luc jerk him off until he spilled over onto his own stomach, could do the same to Luc, but it felt juvenile, insufficient, like after all this time there should be something _more._ Still, even in his wildest fantasies—they had certainly seemed wild at the time, anyway, but the idea seemed laughable now—he had never gone that far, had only pictured warm hands and hard cocks and the delicious curve of Luc’s— 

“—mouth,” he mumbled aloud, not entirely meaning to. He glanced at Luc and saw his face light up.

“Holy Christ on a cracker,” he said slowly. “Micah, you’ve never had a blow job.”

“Uh, nope,” Micah confirmed, even though it hadn’t been a question. “Never given one, either,” he added for good measure.

“Do you want me to show you?” Luc asked. Micah bit his lip, which seemed to encourage his friend. “What do you think, huh? My mouth around you, my tongue under you, me on my knees…?”

Micah let the ideas sit for a moment before he said, feeling bold, “I’d rather be on my knees for you.”

Luc must not have expected that, because he opened his mouth and no reply came. He swallowed and tried again. “Are you sure?”

“I’d like to try,” Micah insisted. 

“Okay. You don’t have to, alright?”

“I want to.”

“You can stop whenever you want, okay?” Luc assured him. “Literally whenever, I don’t care.”

“Okay,” Micah agreed.

“Okay, I uh, let me just—” The fact that Luc was flustered didn’t escape Micah as Luc shoved blankets around on the bed and cleared a space. “It works well for me to be on my back on the bed, right, with my legs over the edge? Like if I sit on the edge with my feet on the floor and lie back. Then there’s space for you in—in front of me?”

Now Micah laughed. “I follow you,” he said. “You sound… nervous.”

Luc looked quickly at him and then away. “Not nervous,” he said, voice low.

“Does the thought excite you that much?” Micah asked, feeling brave, fueled by how easily Luc went from being the one to steer things to fluttering around like he was the inexperienced one. “Do you want my mouth on you, Luc?” he asked, feeling stupid but not regretting it in the least. Luc, who had already sat at the edge of the bed, flopped backwards dramatically with a groan and flung his arm over his face.

“Micah, do you even know what you’re doing to me?” he asked. Micah moved from the bed to kneel in front of Luc, glad his eyes were shut for now, and wrapped his hand around Luc’s cock again.

“I have an idea, I think,” he said softly as Luc moaned. Micah saw the muscles in his thighs tighten and his toes curl. Damn, he hadn't thought that was an actual thing. “Tell me if I’m awful,” he said, half sarcastically and half not. Then, before he could lose his nerve, he angled Luc’s cock towards him and lowered his mouth onto it.

Luc tasted a lot like he smelled—warm, sweet, somehow blue in Micah’s weirdly wired brain—and that made it easier. Then he swept his tongue cautiously around the head of Luc’s cock and tasted the strong salt of what had to be precome. That taste was… less pleasant in practice, but the idea of Luc’s cock hard and leaking in Micah’s _goddamn mouth_ was enough to spur him forward. He sucked Luc’s cock experimentally, trying his best not to let his teeth drag, and was further encouraged by the noises Luc made. He moaned, quiet at first, but louder as Micah kept going. Micah wrapped a hand around the base and lowered himself further onto Luc’s cock, slowly but determinedly, until the head of it hit the back of Micah’s mouth, right before his throat. Micah swallowed instinctively and made himself take deep breaths, taking in the sensation of Luc in his mouth. He felt himself drooling but decided not to care until later.

Luc’s hand was in his hair suddenly, gripping firmly. Micah made a pleasured noise and Luc’s cock jumped in his mouth. He tilted his head up, careful not to lose his hold on Luc’s cock, and saw Luc was looking straight at him, eyes wide an intense.

“Jesus fucking Christ Micah, you’re so good. You’re doing so good.” The praise was unexpected, and so was the exciting buzz in Micah’s head that followed it. He hadn't known he’d wanted to be told he was doing well, but now that he had been, he wanted more. Keeping eye contact with Luc the best he could, he swept his tongue along the underside of his cock and pulled gently away from Luc’s hand, heightening the sensation from where Luc pulled on his hair. Luc got with the program and readjusted his grip, tugging more firmly. Micah couldn’t help it: his eyes rolled shut and he pushed forward into Luc’s grip, both to move his mouth on Luc’s dick and be closer to Luc’s hand.

As Micah hollowed his cheeks again, sucking on Luc like he was trying to draw his soul from him, Luc bucked up underneath him. His muscles were all tight as guitar strings, vibrating with the effort of either holding back or not fucking Micah’s mouth with abandon. “Micah, Micah, if you keep this up I’m gonna come, I don’t—I can’t—” Micah felt like he was flying. Lucian was shaking apart on his bed, moments from coming, voice shaking like a leaf in a thunderstorm and body wound tighter than a rich man’s watch because of _him,_ because Micah was here in his room with the hardwood bringing spots of red, grounding pain to his knees and Luc’s beautiful, velvety cock in his awful, blasphemous, lying, snarky sinner’s mouth.

Micah went for it. He drew a breath, held it, and then as he exhaled through his nose he dragged his lips up and down Luc’s cock, spit slick and pulsing, alternating between whether he was flicking back and forth with his tongue or not. The third time Micah slid his lips down Luc’s shaft, he heard Luc’s breath catch, and the fourth, both of Luc’s hand were in Micah’s hair, pulling, steadying him, and Luc was moaning, “Oh, oh, _oh!”_ and trying not to let himself thrust too far into Micah’s mouth. Then he was coming, hot and wet and salty into the back of Micah’s throat, and Micah convinced himself to swallow mostly because otherwise he’d have to hold the not-exactly-pleasant taste in his mouth longer. He watched from his knees as Luc’s back bowed up like a bowstring and a flush spread up from his cock to envelope the rest of him. Micah slid his mouth as gently as he could from Luc’s cock while Luc finished, stroking him through the last few seconds with his hand. Finally, Luc was still, chest heaving with deep breaths. Micah, unsure where to be, just sat back on his feet and watched Luc slowly resurface. When he did, his hand reached out rather blindly and found Micah’s shoulder.

“Come up here you fucking— _nngh_.” Micah went. They readjusted clumsily on the mattress until at least they both had their feet up on the bed, and Luc pulled Micah close to him, putting Micah’s head on his chest. “I just—I need a minute,” Luc mumbled. Micah nodded and pressed his face to Luc’s warmth, listening to his heartbeat again, which was pounding a deep and steady beat. As he adjusted, Micah became aware once again of his own cock, which had flagged slightly but was still half-hard. As Luc’s hand stroked through Micah’s hair and down the back of his neck, he felt it filling again, reacting to the touch.

“Did I do alright?” Micah asked finally.

“Did you do—Jesus. Yes, Micah, holy shit,” Luc said. “You need to remember to breathe more or you’re gonna fucking pass out, and your teeth are… teeth, but everyone figures out how to get around that. For someone who’s never had a goddamn blowjob in his life, you sure took my cock like a fucking champ.” The praise zinged through Micah again and he couldn’t stop himself from shivering. Luc made a small sound of realization. 

“What?” Micah asked.

“You like when I tell you you did good, don’t you?”

Micah bit his lip. “Is it that obvious?” he asked, voice muffled as he turned to hide against Luc’s chest.

“So?” Luc asked. “I don’t care. It makes you feel good, don’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“So I’ll tell you you’re good all damn day,” Luc proclaimed, and Micah couldn’t help but laugh. “You think I’m above telling you that you did well? Huh?” Luc scritched his nails against Micah’s scalp, and Micah pressed himself closer to the warm line of Luc’s body. “Well, I’m definitely not. You wanna hear how good you are, Micah? Want me to tell you that you looked like a damn porn star sucking my cock and I already wanna see you on your knees again for me?”

_“Christ,_ Luc!”

“Yeah? How do you think I feel, huh? God, Micah, you’re so good, you’re so good.” Micah couldn’t help the small, needy sounds that rose up from his chest. His own cock, called to attention by Luc’s warmth and, apparently also, his praise, was pressing against Luc’s thigh. Micah moved his hips slowly, in small increments, trying not to be demanding at the same time his body was crying out for friction. Luc, apparently recovered enough to keep going, pulled Micah’s face up to meet his and kissed him. He swept his tongue into Micah’s mouth and Micah realized with a jolt, _He can taste himself on me._ That made the brightness in his head come back and he leaned back into it as Luc kissed him senseless.

“How do you feel, Micah?”

“Good,” Micah whispered.

“You still wanna do this?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Okay.” Luc’s hand found him and Micah stopped caring about seeming overeager, about embarrassing himself. He had the taste of Luc’s come in his mouth and the smell of Luc’s skin in his nose and the pressure of Luc’s goddamn hand on his cock. If he wasn’t eager for this, what the fuck was he?

Luc fondled Micah’s cock until it was at peak hardness again, hot and leaking precome onto the hair at his pelvis. “What should I do with you, Micah?” Luc asked. “You think I should suck you, show me how good you made me feel?” Micah couldn’t answer, only bite his lip and press forward into Luc’s grip. “Or I could keep going like this, pull your orgasm right out of you. That’s a thought, hmm.” He was still touching, stroking, brushing himself against Micah. Then his mouth was at Micah’s ear, Luc’s breath warm and his whisper loud,

“Will you fuck me, Micah?” he asked.

“God, _god—!”_

“I want you,” Luc said, kissing the hollow of Micah’s neck under his ear. “I want to feel you in me. Do you know how long I’ve wanted to take you to bed, Micah?” Micah shook his head. “Do you remember, when we were sixteen—” A pause to kiss his neck again. “—when you went on that date and it sucked and you came home mad? How you were bitching to us about how frustrated you were?”

“Yeah,” Micah breathed. It hadn’t been that bad of a date, truly, and it was more Micah’s unwillingness to kiss the girl that was the problem, but sixteen-year-old Micah had had an identity to protect. “And I was asking you guys for—I don’t know, fucking… jerk-off material,” he said.

“Date stories, according to you,” Luc teased. “Do you remember the story I told you?”

Shockingly, Micah did. Luc had spun a tale of a girl he’d taken out, dark hair and soft lips, who had begged Luc to fuck her from behind while pulling her hair. The image had stuck vividly with Micah, inspiring a mixture of horniness and jealousy, through his teen years. He hadn't thought of it in a while, but he still saw the mental image vividly—Luc’s cock pounding into her mercilessly as her neck was bowed by the strong grip of his hand, while his other hand maybe crept around in front, squeezed her neck— 

“Never happened,” Luc confessed.

“Christ, Luc, I je—I thought of that story for _years!”_

“Good,” Luc said. “Because I made it up thinking about you.”

_“What?_ Fuck, Jesus, fuck—” Micah was tucked up against Luc again, and he was grinding up against Luc’s hip, his cock demanding attention, demanding friction, demanding Luc.

“I wanted you,” Luc continued. “I wanted you in my bed so I could make you feel good, so I could have you, touch you, fuck you—“

_“Christ, Luc!”_ Micah moaned. “Please, fuck, please, I can’t—”

“Do you want to fuck me, Micah?”

_“Yes.”_

Luc smiled, and it was like the sun breaking through November clouds. He pushed himself away from Micah and rolled to the other side of the bed, where Micah thought he could see a shoebox. He rummaged in it and returned to Micah’s side, holding things up for his inspection. One was a small bottle of lube, and the other was a condom. 

“I’m negative, on all my tests,” Luc said. “As of like, January, and I haven’t been with anyone since then. But this is here if you want it. It’s fine with me either way.” He gestured with the hand holding the condom.

“No,” Micah said. “I trust you.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. ‘S long as you’re not lying to me.”

“Never,” Luc swore, and God help him, Micah believed it.

“Then leave it.”

“Okay,” Luc agreed, tossing the condom back into the shoebox.

“You had all this ready?”

“I was… optimistic.”

“About me?”

“...and Jules,” Luc said, glancing away. Micah blinked.

“Both of us?”

Luc nodded. “That doesn’t change anything for you does it? It’s fine if it does. I’m sorry, I—there was never a good time to mention it,” he finished guiltily.

Micah took a moment to consider and realized, surprisingly, it changed absolutely nothing. “If it was anyone else, maybe,” he admitted. “But it would almost be weird if it was us here and Jules third-wheeling.”

“Right?!” Luc said, excited. Then he realized he was still holding a bottle of lube in his hand and calmed down. “Right,” he said again. He laid back down next to Micah agan, popped the cap with a loud clicking sound, and poured a generous amount of lub over the first two fingers of his right hand. Micah watched as he reached down between his legs, his face full of concentration until it wasn’t, and there was pleasure there instead. Micah, morbidly curious but extremely nervous, stayed laying beside Luc, kissing his chest and his face until Luc withdrew his hand.

“Ready?” he asked.

“No,” Micah said truthfully. “But I want to.”

“It’s okay if it doesn’t go well,” Luc said. “Okay?”

“Okay.” Micah moved so that he was kneeling between Luc’s spread legs. Luc, forever helpful, reached one gangly arm down to meet him, so it gripped his cock as a guide. It must have been the same hand he’d had inside himself, because it was wet and pleasantly warm. “Okay,” Micah said again, and he let Luc guide him.

The moment the head of Micah’s cock met the edge of Luc’s hole he decided he could die happy. Just the blunt pressure was enough to make his eyes roll back in his head. Then he was thrusting forward, just to feel it _better,_ feel it _more,_ and Luc was rising to meet him, and when he pushed inside of Luc he knew two things at once: this felt better than anything else he had ever done, and that if it sent him straight to the literal fires of hell he would go with Lucian Sharpe’s name on his lips.

The heat of it was incredible. Luc groaned as Micah thrust into him, out of effort or pleasure or both, Micah didn’t have the space in his brain to figure out. Micah’s hands found Luc hips, feeling them like something ethereal under his hands, and then Luc’s legs were wrapping around Micah’s waist and Micah was falling, lost, into the idea of being _trapped-held-pulled-kept_.

Luc was flushed, sweat glowing on his face, cock half-hard again on his stomach, and his hands came out to touch Micah’s hands, to hold them against his hips. Micah let Luc adjust his grip slightly, change the angle, and then Luc was moaning, his thrusts uneven and lovely.

“Micah, god, there, yes, fuck, fuck—”

“Luc, I’m gonna—I have to—”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, Micah, _yes—”_

Micah’s orgasm was the roar of a jet from the tarmac, the feeling of stepping off an edge into empty air, the brightest camera flash that took away the ability to see. He didn’t have it so much as it had him, ripped him into a current he hadn’t known was there and held him under in a drowning that was all-consuming and inescapable. The only things he felt were Luc’s legs around his waist and Luc’s hips in his hands. That was all there was, all there needed to be. _World without end amen,_ he thought, and the blasphemy felt easy in his heart this time.

Luc rode it out with him, and when Micah thought he would collapse, Luc was pulling him down to lay beside him. Micah let himself be pulled, fell to the mattress as if something vital to holding him up had been taken from him. He felt Luc the way he felt things while half-asleep: the awareness of Luc’s hands on him and Luc’s kisses on his forehead came and went like a fever dream. He dimly felt Luc’s blanket being pulled over the both of them, Luc’s arms wrapping loosely around his chest as they settled like spoons or old lovers, and then the adrenaline and endorphins and the back edge of the cannabis all came forward at once and Micah was blissfully, dreamlessly asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> There will be a second chapter to this I SWEAR - Crash


End file.
